Trees. the Walnut trees, alone. Along the side of a road. The Cloth, finally found for Wendy, Rag of the Day. After so long.
i looked back in the gmail search for the last connection with Wendy. It was a post of 5/16/2015, windthread, referring to the Wind Horses.
the pic for that post on windthread was this. A mask.
i woke this morning to find this email:
"Thank you for posting the photo of the chicken in the tree.
I 've been having an odd sort of insomnia for about a week now. Last night i decided that it must be here to teach or show me something, to make space for a change. In the midst of my midnight scribbling last night, i found myself writing an instructive fairy tale to myself:
The old woman spinning at the crossroads laughs to see me stumbling along…a cheerful cackling not unlike that of the hens clustered around her. She hands me basket twined of honeysuckle and reed.
"Gather the eggs, " she says.
Some of the hens have made tidy nests near the path, but others have laid their eggs in the fork of ancient oak or gnarled maple, others under a thorn bush or even in the midst of bright green poison ivy.
"Every egg", she admonishes me, and her spindle keeps twirling and the yarn keeps growing. I follow her directions and find that many of the wild-nesting hens have produced the most beautiful eggs…the largest, the tiniest, not only creamy white or rich brown, but sometimes streaked with emerald or speckled with luminous turquoise. I wonder what bird could have fathered such eggs…or perhaps it was the wildness of the mother that created such jewels in the furthest, hidden nests.
I find myself ignoring the nearby nests, drawn further into the forest. But i hear her say, reminding me, "Every egg. One never knows".
you can imagine my delight at opening your blog this morning and discovering the most glorious chicken up in the tree!
a sign or omen…? Whatever, it made my day. Thank you! "
i sat.
read and reread. Closed it out. Went off to make tea, coming back feeling like i would not be surprised if it werent there.
but it was. I read again.
This is Margery Knott of North Carolina. in further mails she gave me permission to post this.
"after 75 years of putting my writings and weavings (myself?) away in drawers….in spite of encouragement ….I have finally dropped my fears…which is how i was able to actually express my thanks to you this morning."
she sent then, two pics of her WORK. I will ask permission to post those. They are "masks". From her work with Susan Merrill, weavingalife.com .
the pics are stunning. to say the least.
and back to where we started. Trees.
first, Acey returned. This being after me wandering a while….asking this Hill…How can I live? What do i do? and the Hill said, Listen. Talk about it.
today, i went to the Post Office and brought home The Overestory. The first page and a half are Enough.
and it went and Goes from there. Each of us has a tree. I am sure of that. Each of us can go sit with the Tree and listen. today the Utility of California, Pacific Gas and Electric cut off power again, the second time in 2 weeks to 180.000 customers. They guess for 2 days. Why? because there is WIND. and what does Wind do? It moves through Trees. Branches fall.
All day, the power was slated to go off at 2pm, all day, before that, i listened. The Pines here speak in song speak. The Oaks move and drop leaves that the Goats glean as they fall. The trees, it felt to me were energized by the Wind, relieved of a long hot summer season, able to shed what was dry, they, feeling lightened and free to meet the coming Rain months. As i write this now, the Pines continue their Sounding. Trying to tell us how to live.
windthread 
Leave a comment